Poems and writings

At the edge

You are on the edge of the cliff. Frightened and distrustful. You look up, into the void, into the sky, wondering if the stars are watching you. The wind ruffles your fur, your feathers, your ears, your cheeks. You take a deep breath, trying to fill your lungs with air. Gathering your courage, you take a deep breath, closing your eyes. Immediately you feel exposed and vulnerable, and you open them again. Gulping, you lean over the edge.

Peaks and pines and hillsides and streams greet you. A little farther down, in one of the trees, you can almost see a spacious nest, perhaps of a bird and her chicks. The thought saddens you, reminding you that you are alone. You have always been alone.

You shake off the sadness; this is no time to think any of that. You pull your ears back, leaning forward again. You can do it. You know how to do it, just follow your instinct. You try to quiet the fear, the instinct that leads you to turn away and run. No. You won't run. This is what you were born to do. To conquer the skies, the stars, the moon up above.

You mutter a slight snort, shaking out your fur, maybe encouraging you to do it. To finally let yourself be free. Without giving yourself time to think twice, you let yourself fall into the void.

The wind howls against your ears, the fur sticks against your eyes. For a moment, you almost forget where you are. You are one with the universe, the stars are smiling at you. The moon sings to you, and you sing with it. Almost when the treetops are getting too close, you shriek with excitement, and, with a single movement, your wings open, catching the wind.

You are alone, up above the clouds.

You ascend, ascend, ascend, ascend, flapping your wings again and again. Your eyes are fixed on its prize, its silver light bathing your whiskers. Your wings catch more wind, and you climb and climb and climb. Up where no other feline has ever been. You ignore the howl of the breeze, the chill of the night.

Because at last you are with her. The moon greets you, singing, and you sing with her. Waving, happy at last, you forget all your fears as your mistress accompanies your flight, veiling your wings. You sing, you laugh, you dance to the moon's bals, for you are hers, and she is yours.